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Step by Step/Issue 27
This is Issue #27 of Step by Step. This is the third issue of Volume Five. Banshee Twilight had broken through the skies rather early, with a shit-eating grin. Nolan would have wiped that shit off the heavens in a hurry if he could, but instead he only watched it. His face was in a flash of anger, a water bottle in his grip. His lungs were bitter-feeling, like sawdust. His insides churned, churned like they were churning gallons of sweet, sweet butter. The one thing he hadn't spoken to Wayne about was, hadn't caved into telling him, was about his own doubts. He doubted that the Jackson boy had made it out in time, put an egg in his shoe and beat it. The idea, the one he feared the most, was that they were on their own for now. There was always a chance that, and Nolan had argued with himself about it, Lyle's pack-a-day craving had saved him from the worst of the hellspawn flames. He gave himself a chug of water, and it paid him with a spit-shine. He looked around the church, finding Wayne walking away from him and back to the pews. Nolan made a move, skedaddling from the choir bench and to the wall. He'd be on his best behavior, best of the bestest. He glanced out the stained glass again, and a rainbow of colors talked back to him. Thank God for the light. On a steel horse, he rode along the wall. His shadow crept up like splinters, Nosferatu like. He paced back and forth. The church was awake in a sense, only Gordon had been dragged to sleep. Alexander, scrawny kid, was stirring in one of the first pews next to Joseph. The Davis family had taken stead in front of Wayne and Eugene, the father and daughter both watching him, as if waiting for him to go into full-blown attack. "I'm one of the freaks, the geeks," Eugene said. "I say, but to others, I'm just another statistic, nothing but a number on their little tallies. I wave my fists at them, held myself back, and bit my tongue–either way, to others, Eugene Miller is nothing but human pollution–so me missing her is getting me mushy inside." "The battle rages on," Wayne said, shaking his head. "Carol was supposed to come with me," the boy added. He looked like he would say something, but kept silent. Nolan's upper lip curled in disdain. He felt great, the bestest. He took another chug off his water until he started drinking air. He'd give Lyle a couple hours. No bets''—''yet''—''but at least he was thinking up stuff. Better than resting like the rest, kicking it back like Richie Rich in here. No way, so help him God, Nolan was not one for long lines. From the corner of his eye, Nolan saw the gift shop's door open. Along the corner of the pews came Malcolm, then Carter. They joined everyone else, with Malcolm settling a pistol back into his hip holster. It'd been a gift from Amanda. And because they had come, speak of the devil, Amanda and Hector jogged down a flight of stairs opposite to the pews. Nolan favored Malcolm with a bitter face, mostly to test out the man's engines. Of course, the man had ditched his rifle back in the shitbox, saying it'd be best put to use for when time came for it. "We're staying under here," he said, "until further notice." "That means everyone stays put, unless need be." Carter clasped his gloves together, entwined them, a sour power struggle. He saw Eugene, who now looked to have red-rimmed mole's eyes. He would take no shit from that kid, whatever his suspicions were. If Eugene thought so much of Carter that he was to blame for some snatched-up chocolate bars from an Indy's 'N' Go store, or'd done the crime that'd done away with Caroline, Carter would not take shit from the kid. "Yeah," Hector positioned himself. "Makes a lotta sense, I mean. For all we know, we could get swamped out there. I say, since we got the arms, we stay put. With all those flames, some chopper's bound to make a fly-by." Hector didn't stop. "So from now on, I reckon it'd be best for us, as a single group, to arm ourselves. Survival of the fittest, till the calvary arrives." "You can't do that, Officer," Kerry Davis said. "I may be just a kid, but I've got my rights. Free country, so I say no more dying." "Yeah, yeah," Alexander followed. He wasn't that physically awake, nor that mentally back yet from his lousy attempt of a nap. He was also wearing a now filthy tee-shirt, splattered with green pea juice–known better from his parts as the Green Giant's franks-and-beans. He was scrubbing his eyes as he got up from the bench, and his face gave off that Ah, fuck, y'know I ain't deaf ''look to the cop.'' Hector stood back, letting his shotgun inch close. "Well shit," he said. "N–no," Alex said, drawing himself up to his full five feet and three-quarters. "I am sick and tired of the taste of your bullshit. Any more of this "every man to his own", and I'll start bullshitting myself. Give it a rest, for Christ's sake. The more you talk, the more you startin to be like poor man's whiskey. So take it from me, kindly shut up. I want to leave this on good terms, you damn Hoosier bastard." "Button up that lip." "Or what?" "I'll beat your ugly face in." "You will?" "I will. And can." "We should throw you to those things." Hector grinned. And laughed. Looked around the room at everyone. Laughed again. "One look at you," said Hector, "says that you wouldn't survive a minute without any of us to come pick you up." "Is that right?" "You're skinny." "Thank you." "And scrawny to the bone." "I never knew that." "And it'd be a real mockery throwing such a chopstick to those hungry animals." Everybody laughed except for Nolan and Carter Jameson, both of which stood side by side. Malcolm had been nodding, to himself, the whole time. A warm silence blew over, and his beat legs told him what was up. Flies buzzed around them, gobbled up the place. Hector was shocked, obviously, and had backed the hell up. The sergeant felt himself enlighten, and returned a bare shit-eating grin to Nolan. "We are all in this single game," he said, "just in different levels. I see us now, in this same hell, each and all of us moving on. Gotta roll with these punches, roll with em." Hector scoffed. "Are you acting like a politician, sergeant?" "No, I'm speaking my mind." "You're at fault here. You and that meat-head who ain't present at the moment." "I saved you people." "No, we saved ourselves, sergeant." "You owe us the truth," said a voice. "Who said that?" "It was the criminal." "Nolan?" "You owe me the truth." Nolan's mouth downsized itself to a white line. "You owe us all the truth." "What truth?" Malcolm asked. "Do you think I have the information about this hell we're in?" "I want the truth." "So do I." "The dead are walking, and you can't give me the truth." "Like what?" "Where are you going to take us?" "Hmm?" "What other shelter is there for us?" "None at the moment." "None." "I will get you all to safety." "You can't come up with a straight answer." "Shut up, criminal," said Hector. Nolan eyeballed the sergeant. "Me and you, we are terrified and running in circles, and all of us in this church—scared." He didn't stop nodding, instead looked over Nolan's right shoulder, and out a window. A heck of a day ahead. Malcolm glanced around, quickly to not make eye contact, and spent a little more time on Nolan and Hector. Like hell he was, negotiating with a couple of terrorists. Back in the day, Malcolm would've made an example out of him, they were more good than evil. Malcolm stopped for another reason as well, because right then he saw a mouthful of shapes black out the window behind Nolan. And at that moment, when Malcolm stopped his nods and his lips buckled in terror, Nolan saw a glint in the man's eyes that made it seem the soldier's heart was now a squirming knot of worms. Issues Category:Step by Step Category:Category:Step by Step Issues Category:Issues